Words are the greatest treasure.
But to give somebody the gift of words on a pretty card with a photo or recipe or poem inside is a mailbox full of gold.
I left off last time with Story crying in the rec room and me bustling around the kitchen, hurrying to get lunches made so I could get upstairs to write.
When a friend calls to me from the roadAnd slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
